


To Fix This Mind

by Dance_Elle_Dance



Category: The Hills Have Eyes (2006 2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Healing, Post-Movie: The Hills Have Eyes (2006), Post-Movie: The Hills Have Eyes 2 (2007), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dance_Elle_Dance/pseuds/Dance_Elle_Dance
Summary: "You think you know what I've gone through...you have no idea, Bukowski."The survivors of the mutant attacks meet in a government-mandated therapy program, and Doug and Missy find each other in the process.(Originally posted on 8/15/13.)
Relationships: Brenda Carter/Amber Johnson, Crank Medina & Delmar Reed, Doug Bukowski/Missy Martinez
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. 3:00 Group Session Here

**Author's Note:**

> Original AN: Well, this idea has been a long time coming. I don't know why, but this idea just won't leave me. And I have finally started it, which is more than I can say for other projects. Okay, so, this was supposed to be a oneshot, but then I found that I kind of wanted to try something different. I'm going to do short chapters, kind of like segments in some of my really long oneshots - except those segments would be slightly longer (in some cases), of course. I just found that, when I was writing, it didn't feel like a oneshot since each segment was so long and it didn't feel right to cut them so short because there was so much to say. So I've gotten this idea. Short little chapters with relatively quick updates, at least compared to my other fics, and at least until school starts back. I figure it would be an interesting change from how I usually write. The chapters will vary in length, but none will be epic-length or anything like that. Kind of like a...flash-fic? I think I've heard that term used before. So, after that ridiculously long AN, I do hope that y'all enjoy this fic of mine.
> 
> Updated AN: I laugh at myself when I said “more frequent updates”. So funny. I haven’t updated this in forever, but I am uploading it here because if there is any fic I want to continue, it is this one. For whatever reason. Also, I have changed the endgame pairings from its original conception. It won’t be noticeable in the early chapters, but I was just informing you guys in case you followed me from ffnet. (Lol like I am that important. I’m so dumb.) Anyway, please enjoy!

Doug Bukowski gave a sigh as he stood in front of the door that would lead to - he was sure with great certainty - something completely and utterly unnecessary.

The place itself had a very government feel to it. From the outside, the building had looked as if it had been made by someone with a very utilitarian sense of style. He wouldn't have expected anything less, but still. It was kind of unnerving to see something like that in an otherwise cheery area, albeit a bit secluded.

Now that he thought about it, it kind of looked like a bunker.

Fighting a shudder, he continued to stare at the door in front of him. There was nothing overt that would distinguish it from any other door in this particular hallway, except the piece of paper taped to it that read, simply, "3:00 Group Session Here."

Doug wasn't sure of the purpose of the sign. The people who had tried to call him - and when he ignored their calls because they sounded very _official_ when he first answered the phone, actually showed up at his doorstep and demanded him to go to this stupid therapy session - had specified which room number, the address, etc. He wondered if anyone was completely stupid as to not know where the room numbers were located, above the door -

"Where's the _fucking_ room?"

If Doug wasn't so put out by the whole situation, he would have laughed. Instead, he turned his head to the voice and saw two men walking side-by-side - one complaining about where the room was and the other shaking his head slightly in exasperation. Just by looking at the two of them, Doug deemed them close friends.

They were about to walk past him, and Doug figured it would make him look like a dick later if he didn't at least say something, so he found himself calling out, "You here for the three o'clock session?"

He realized too late that there could have been other "three o'clock" sessions here, but he honestly wasn't sure how to finish that sentence without sounding three kinds of insane.

One of the men looked at him strangely, his eyebrows knitting together as he stepped toward him. "About Sector 16?"

The question, while innocent and called for, caused a shiver to crawl down Doug's spine, like it did every time someone even hinted at the incident.

"Yeah," he replied, trying not to sound like he was drowning.

"Yeah, we're here for that," the other, more volatile-seeming man spoke up. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Someone who has experience in that area," Doug replied, unconcerned with keeping the edge out of his voice. He was tired - damn tired, if he was honest with himself - and unconcerned with pleasantries.

Doug ran a hand through his hair as he moved out of the way for the two men to get past him. The more outspoken of the two stopped in front of him, gave him a glare, and said, "Are you the therapist?"

He found himself laughing in response. "Why would you ask that?"

"You look like the type of jackass that would be a shrink," he said. "But you're not?"

Doug chuckled louder - the sound felt weird as it rumbled through is wiry frame. "I'm not."

The man nodded curtly and then disappeared into the room.

Without further preamble, Doug followed.


	2. Dark, Haunted Eyes

The room was a small one, he realized as his eyes raked over the place, taking in the muted colors - calm and nondescript - and the circular arrangement of chairs in the center of the room. Though seemingly designed for people to open up about themselves, Doug felt the whole thing was a little _too_ open for his tastes. Even before he took his seat, he felt like he was exposed to the nerves.

The two men from before sat beside each other, next to another couple - or, at least, what he thought looked like a couple - that consisted of a pretty girl with shockingly red hair and a thin, dark-haired man.

"Hey, Napoleon," the kinder of the men said, extending a hand.

The lanky man - Napoleon - shook this man's hand, saying, "Delmar."

While the two started to chit-chat, the girl ran a hand through her hair and inhaled shakily. Doug tried not to stare for too long at the group of young people as he squeezed between two of the chairs and took a seat on the complete opposite side of the circle as the others.

He glanced at his watch. Both Brenda and Bobby were running late. He didn't blame them at all, of course, but it was a tad bit odd sitting across from four other people with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs. He looked down at his hands, noting how they were now asymmetrical - two fingers missing from one hand. He still hadn't gotten used to seeing his hand that way, a physical reminder of the time he spent in the desert.

It suddenly seemed very chilly in the room.

"Doug?"

He started, looking over his shoulder at Brenda, who was gazing softly down at him. Bobby stood next to her, looking vaguely like a frightened sheep. Doug rose as Brenda and Bobby squeezed through the chairs to sit beside him. Sitting back down, Doug only vaguely noticed the other set of people as they studied the two new additions to the group.

"Catherine's downstairs?" he asked, a hint of nervousness to his voice. Even now, when he knew she was safe, it set him on edge to be apart from her for even a minute.

Brenda nodded. "Yeah, in the day care area."

"And the squirt?"

A fond smile fell over her face. "She's with her."

"Really considerate of them to provide day care for the kids while we're in the meeting."

Doug could practically hear the roll of Bobby's eyes. "Yeah. _Considerate._ "

Brenda jabbed Bobby with her elbow.

Just before Bobby could say something in response, the door opened behind them. Doug didn't feel the need to turn around, but he saw that a few people did.

"Good afternoon, everyone," a soft, calm, feminine voice rang out in greeting. The door shut behind her, and after that it was silent - not even her shoes made a sound as she made to the chair that sat as a masthead, splitting the two sides of the circle into the group of Doug and his family, and the others who clearly knew each other.

_Two separate events, maybe,_ Doug pondered.

His thoughts were cut short, however, when the woman spoke. "I am glad that you all have come," she announced.

"Not that we had a choice," came the muttered retort from the outgoing man from before.

Not perturbed in the slightest, the woman continued. "I'm Dr. Riley. But please call me Henry."

"...Henry?" the tone of disbelief was overt in Napoleon's voice.

"Henrietta can be a mouthful," she said warmly, but not without mirth.

Henry wasn't the typical psychiatrist - or psychologist. Whatever she was. Doug always got the two confused. She was dressed somewhat casually, wearing a nice pair of slacks paired with a bright blue blouse that set off the icy blue of her eyes. Black hair waved softly over one shoulder in a side-ponytail. On her feet were a pair of ratty looking black converses.

Looking at those old shoes, paired with an otherwise flawless appearance, gave Doug a sense of comfort.

"Alright," she started. She set her purse on the floor by her feet and looked at each of them. "I'd like to start by introducing myself. Obviously, my name is Henry. I enjoy playing tennis and volunteering at the local animal shelter. I also like to dabble in various Xbox games - "

"What are you trying to do, _Henry_?" the outgoing man snarled. "Introduce yourself to make us feel _comfortable_? Like you're just the same as all of us. That's fucking ridiculous. You don't know what we went through." He gestured grandly to his set of friends on his side of the circle, before jabbing his index finger in Doug's direction. "I don't even know those fucking people, but if they went through the same shit we did, then you don't know anything about them either."

"I am just - "

"No!" he shouted. "I'm not listening to a damn word you want to say. I don't even know why I'm here - "

Doug thought he heard the door creak open, but didn't look to see who it was. He was too focused on this train wreck going on in front of him. Henry, to her credit, looked unphased by the volatile man's outburst. She looked poised, her legs crossed, with her hands clasped together over one knee. Though, as soon as she looked up at the door, Doug knew he had heard correctly.

He turned around in that moment and was met with the dark, haunted eyes of a women, her equally dark hair hanging freely around her face. She wore baggy clothes that hid what he figured was a small frame. Despite her appearance, he found himself entranced by her all the same.

Doug had heard about events that were able to suck all the oxygen from the room.

He just hadn't experienced one of those until now.


	3. She’s Kind of Intense

Before Henry said anything, the red-haired girl from the other side of the circle stood up, walking over to her with her arms outstretched. "Missy!" she exclaimed. From her tone, Doug figured the two were close.

"Crank," the woman named Missy spoke as she pressed a palm to the girl's shoulder, effectively stopping her hug in its tracks. "Stop giving her a hard time."

The man - now revealed as Crank - looked sobered at her appearance, and inhaled deeply, scooting over so she could squeeze between the seats and take her seat next to him. The redhead wilted at the rejection and moved to take her seat next to the man named Napoleon.

Doug could feel Brenda looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned to her and she mouthed, "What's up with that?"

He gave her a smile and shrugged. "No idea."

Henry gave a great sigh, the first sign of weariness she'd shown since sitting down not even ten minutes ago. "How about we take a small break and gather ourselves? There's some coffee over on the counter - " She motioned to the corner of the room, where there was a pot brewing. Doug pondered when the pot was started, but didn't complain.

He rose from his seat and moved to the coffee pot. Though he was the first to leave his seat, he was not the first to the coffee. That honor went to Crank, who probably needed caffeine as much as he needed a class in being an efficient potty mouth.

Crank turned around, obviously not expecting Doug to be right behind him, and almost spilled his scalding drink on Doug's crisp white button-down. The hothead - if Doug could judge him as such just by what he'd been exposed to so far - glared at him and moved to take his seat.

Doug wrapped his fingers around the handle of the coffee pot and then reached for one of the Styrofoam cups next to it. He poured a generous amount of coffee into the cup and then left, enjoying the warmth of the cup in his mangled hand.

He turned around and was face-to-face with the dark-haired girl from before.

She said nothing, her face impassive, though she stared into his eyes with an eerie steadiness. Doug was unsure as to how to address her - unsure if he even wanted to - but he eventually gave her a nod and pushed past.

When he sat back down next to Brenda, she gave him a look that suggested a sense of fascination.

"What?" he asked, daring a sip of his coffee. It burned his lips, but he drank more regardless.

Brenda shrugged. "She's kind of intense."

"You saw that?"

She nodded, looking back to where the dark-haired woman was - _Missy,_ he thought - putting creamer into her cup of coffee.

"She probably has a reason," Doug commented. "We all do."

He recognized the silence that followed as an agreement.


	4. Why We’re Here

"Are we all in control of ourselves now?" Henry started, sitting down with her own cup of coffee.

Crank looked as if he wanted to rip that perfect ponytail off of her head, but said nothing. Doug found himself endlessly amused, watching this guy. He found it strange that he would always sneak a glance at Missy, his eyes searching hers for something. She either wasn't aware he was looking at her - which, Doug doubted that was the case - or was ignoring him.

If the therapist noticed anything, she did not say. She ran a finger along the rim of her Styrofoam cup, staring down into the liquid as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Doug had noticed she had poured numerous packets of sugar into it, along with several creams - the odd part was, she had lined them up. Four packs of sugar, three creams, in two separate rows. This one was meticulous. This one loved details.

This could get even more annoying.

"As in control as I'll ever be," Missy voiced, as if to get the ball rolling. It was an odd statement, Doug thought. The dark haired girl seemed the picture of control, though there was an odd, wild look in her eyes every now and then, a look that he wondered if anyone else had picked up on.

"Alright." Henry allowed herself a small sip of her coffee before beginning. "Would everyone mind introducing themselves to the group before we get started?"

"I mind," Crank grumbled, though no one seemed to hear. Or they were ignoring him. Doug hadn't decided yet.

"I'm Delmar," the man to Crank's side spoke up. A perfect foil to his personality, Doug figured.

One by one, each member of the group gave their name. Amber. Napoleon. Missy. Brenda. Bobby. Doug himself. And Crank spoke up last, reluctantly, his eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

"Good to officially meet all of you," Henry said, her voice light. "I suppose we need to get started now." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Everyone knows why we're here, right?"

Silence.

Crank finally broke it. "Because of those mutated fucks."

Henry nodded. "Vulgar, but you are correct."

"They don't deserve anything but _vulgar,_ " Bobby spoke up for the first time, his voice wavering but determined.

Doug and Brenda both turned to look at him. Brenda placed a hand on his knee in comfort.

"Would you like to tell us what happened to you?" Henry asked, staring at Bobby with that cool, impenetrable gaze.

Bobby was angry, but he bit out. "Those monsters killed my family. Mom and Dad and my sister. Even one of our dogs. They terrorized the rest of us." His sentences were short, clipped, filled with rage that Doug had not known him capable of. "We barely got out alive." He was almost as antagonistic as Crank as he stared at the therapist. " _That's_ all you need to know."

He noticed that Bobby did not mention Brenda or Doug himself. He appreciated that. Some stories weren't his to tell, and Bobby knew that. Frankly, he couldn't see the use of reliving all of that pain, especially when he had finally managed to scrape some semblance of meaning back into his life.

Doug looked down at his mangled hand.

But he supposed some stories needed to be told, no matter how difficult, no matter how unnecessarily painful.


End file.
